I bounded up the stairs to Mom’s old room. It hadn’t been redecorated since she was a kid, so it was kind of like a Mom Museum, all pink and white dotted swiss. Her old Holly Hobby doll leaned stiffly against the pillow on the bed, smiling with faded red lips. As I walked around the room and envisioned where I’d hang my dolphin posters and set up my computer, I touched Mom’s pretty face peering out of pictures on the dresser. Mom and her girlfriends at the beach. Mom snuggling with her cat on the sofa. Mom at her high school graduation, with Grandma and Grandpa beaming proudly by her side. And on the bedside table, a photo of Mom and me, with Mom squeezing me from behind and both of us laughing. Both with shoulder-length light brown hair. Both with a dusting of freckles on our noses. (Beauty marks, Lani would say.)
I smiled a little as my eyes wandered over to the bookshelf, decorated with Mom’s collection of plaques, awards and ribbons. Swim team, essay contest, debate club, yearbook staff, high school newspaper. If the Mom Museum had a tour guide, I could hear his spiel now: “Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing the archives of a happy, normal kid. Elsa Alden’s mother was pretty, popular, smart and outgoing. Historians can only guess why her daughter’s destiny was to become a tragic, unpopular geek.”
Okay, Mr. Tour Guide. You can shut up now.
Still, it was a bittersweet feeling to be exactly where my mom had been when she was my age. I unzipped a tote bag, retrieved my plastic stars, stood on my tiptoes on the bed and carefully stuck them to the ceiling. There, I thought. Now this room will feel like home.
I stepped off the mattress and walked over to the dresser. Grandma had emptied the drawers for me, but the top was still cluttered with little knickknacks. Some were left over from Mom’s childhood, and others I had added to the collection over the years. I fingered them carefully, then noticed that something had slipped off and fallen on the floor. I bent over to pick it up. It was a gold necklace with a round locket, about the size of a quarter.
That’s weird…, I thought. In all my visits, I’d never noticed it before, and I hadn’t seen it lying there when I walked over to the dresser just then.
I peered at the locket, then wiped the smudges off with the bottom of my shirt and held it closer. Nothing special…just a gold locket (fake gold, probably) with a heart etched in the middle.
I let the necklace slide from my hand onto the dresser, thinking maybe I’d ask Grandma about it later.
“How do I look?”
Why do people ask that question when the only answer they expect is “fine”?
But I asked it anyway as I walked into Grandma’s kitchen the next morning. My first day at Harbin Springs Middle School would begin in exactly—I checked my watch—twenty-seven minutes.
“You look beautiful, sweetie,” Grandma said, kissing my cheek.
“Thanks, Grandma, but I’m not going for ‘beautiful,’” I said with a smile. “I’m going for ‘fine.’ I just want to blend in today.” I tucked my white shirt into my jeans.
“Mission accomplished,” said Dad as he took a bite of toast at the table. “I didn’t even know you were standing there. I thought you were part of the wallpaper.”
“Funny.” I kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair. “There. Now you’ll blend in with everybody having a bad hair day.”
“I thought I did that every day,” he said.
Grandma smiled. “You’re going to have a great day, honey,” she said. “Just keep a smile on your face and everything will be fine.”
Obviously, Grandma was a little naïve. But I wanted to believe her. Haven’t we all known since preschool that others will treat us the way we treat them? I’m friendly, they’re friendly. Right? That was my philosophy as I headed out to walk the four blocks to school. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. I was delusional.
Oh, the day started out okay. The first ten minutes or so were actually bearable. As I walked toward the school, I could have sworn that a couple of people waved at me. Either that or they were swatting flies. Whatever. I waved back.
Once I reached the school, my first stop was the office. A couple of ladies sat at desks behind a counter, but no one looked up, even after I cleared my throat a couple of times. Smile, I reminded myself nervously. Smile.
“Hi!” I said in a voice that I had commanded to sound friendly and confident but that came out all squeaky and petrified.
One of the ladies looked up. No smile.
“Uh…I’m Elsa Alden, and this is my first day. My dad registered me last week.”
Grouchy Office Lady studied me blandly for a second or two, then started riffling through a folder on her desk, peering down through glasses that sat on the edge of her nose.
“Mmm-hmmmm,” Grouchy Office Lady said. “Elsa Alden.”
“Ah! So I really do exist!”
Dead silence.
Idiot, I muttered under my breath. I’m an idiot. In case you haven’t noticed yet, I make really awful jokes when I’m nervous.
Grouchy Office Lady walked toward me, looking annoyed, and handed me a card over the counter. “Here’s your schedule,” she said. “Right now, report to Mr. Wright’s class for homeroom and language arts.”
“Mr. Wright, huh?” I said. “I guess I can’t go wrong with him.”
Dead silence.
Shut up, Elsa! Quit making lame remarks and just blend in!
The heavy office door creaked as a guy walked in. He was skinny with thick dark hair that fell into his eyes.
“Hi, Mrs. Stiffle,” he said to Grouchy Office Lady. “Mr. Wright asked me to bring you these permission forms for Wednesday’s field trip.”
“Thank you, Martin,” she said, taking the forms. “As long as you’re here, will you walk this new girl back to class with you? You have all the same classes, so you can show her around today.”
He looked hesitant as I managed a weak little smile. “I’m Elsa,” I said.
“Martin King,” he replied, looking at my shoes rather than my face. “No Luther in the middle. Just Martin King.” He opened the door and held out his arm. “Right this way.”
I tried to break the ice as we headed down the hall.
“Sorry you got stuck escorting me around,” I said.
Martin smiled shyly, still apparently fascinated by the floor, because that was the only place he ever seemed to look. “You might be the sorry one. Hanging around with me seems to have a kamikaze effect on people.”
“Kamikaze?”
He nodded. “Social suicide. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t get it. Why is that?”
He shrugged absently. “I read J. D. Salinger during break period while everybody else passes around Teen People,” he said. “Throw glasses and braces into the mix and you’ve got the complete geek package.”
I smiled. “It’s okay. I like books, too. My mom was a writer.”
“Was?”
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Here I was, finally getting the chance to shed my stigma as the girl with the dead mom, and what do I do? I spill the beans before first period even begins. I felt my face flush.
“Yeah…,” I said, then quickly changed the subject. “J. D. Salinger. I haven’t heard of that book. What’s it about?”
Martin’s lips tightened into a tiny smile. “J. D. Salinger isn’t a book. He’s a writer. He writes a lot about fitting in…well, about not fitting in, actually. I’ll loan you my books if you’re interested. Just remember: the kamikaze effect.”
I smiled as we walked into Mr. Wright’s classroom. “Consider me warned. And thanks for walking me to class.”
The teacher looked up from his desk. “Ah. Elsa Alden?”
Blend in. Blend in. “Yes,” I said quietly.
“Welcome to our class, where the wonders of great literature await.”
I smiled nervously. “Sounds…wonderful.”
A couple of the kids in the class rolled their eyes and groaned. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What in the world
was happening to my plan to blend in? I was imploding before everyone’s eyes.
Mr. Wright peered around the room. “Hmmm…Elsa, why don’t you sit in the empty seat right behind Darcy.”
He motioned toward a pretty girl with almond-shaped eyes and waist-length honey-colored hair accented by expertly applied blond highlights. The girl crinkled her nose.
“Not here, Mr. Wright!” she said with a pout, then flashed me a smile as fake as her highlights. “No offense,” she explained. “It’s just that I need to keep that seat empty for my gym bag. You know…cheerleading, dance class…all my stuff.” Her lip curled. “Why don’t you sit next to Martin? Looks like you two are already friends….”
Snickers rippled through the classroom.
Mr. Wright raised an eyebrow. “Looks like your gym bag will have to find a new home, Darcy. Shove it. Your gym bag, that is. Under your desk.” The class giggled and Darcy rolled her eyes. Mr. Wright turned back to me. “Miss Alden, have a seat, please.”
As I walked toward my seat, Darcy’s fake smile turned to a sneer. She snatched her gym bag out of my chair and flung her highlighted hair in my general direction.
Mr. Wright gathered some papers and handed a stack to the first person in every row. “Take one and pass them back,” he instructed. When the stack reached Darcy’s perfectly manicured hands, she flung it backward without bothering to turn around. The papers flew, and I was on my hands and knees scooping them up.
“Oops,” Darcy said, shooting me an icy glare.
“These sheets,” Mr. Wright said as I settled myself at my desk, “are rules for an essay contest.”
My skin tingled. I loved essay contests.
“The topic,” Mr. Wright continued, “is ‘What I’ve Learned in Seventh Grade.’”
I groaned out loud.
“Elsa?” Mr. Wright said. Uh-oh. Shut up, shut up!
“Yes, sir?” I said in barely a whisper.
“Why the groan?” he asked, but his tone was friendly.
I shrugged. “Well, I really like to write,” I said, “but it seems like essay contest topics are always so lame.”
He smiled knowingly. “What do you like to write about?”
I brightened at the question. My mom and I used to spend countless hours at the computer, brainstorming a plot for a novel, then taking turns writing paragraphs. It was just for fun; Mom had been strictly business when she had a real writing assignment, but we loved the goofiness of feeding off each other’s imagination and having to follow the nutty plot twists we created for each other.
“It’s not that I like writing about anything specific,” I answered carefully. “I just love noticing something that’s right there in plain sight that nobody else has noticed…or thinking about something in a way that nobody else has thought about before. Then I write about it.”
Darcy turned her head slightly toward me and cooed sarcastically, “Oooohhh. Fascinating.”
I blushed. Why couldn’t I just keep my big mouth shut?
But Mr. Wright looked pleased. “I’m looking forward to reading your work,” he told me. “And why don’t we start with this essay? What could be more challenging than taking some tired, trite subject and making it fresh?” He gestured to the class. “That goes for all of you. The essay contest is optional, but you’ll get extra credit if you write one, and it’ll be great practice. The essays are due May fifth, and the winner will read his or her essay in the auditorium for the whole school on Honors Day, May ninth. And I left out one small detail.” He grinned and paused for dramatic effect. “The Harbin Springs Tribune is donating a new laptop computer to the winner.”
The classroom tingled with a sudden infusion of energy.
“Oh, Mr. Wright!” Darcy gushed, raising her hand high. “I have lots to write about! Cheerleading and dancing and…”
“Right, Darcy,” he said slowly. “But I think Elsa’s on the right track. You should move beyond the obvious and find a way to share something really meaningful with the reader.”
Darcy huffed. “Well, I have lots of meaningful things to say,” she said. She shot me another icy glare. “We’ll see who wins that laptop.”
I sank deeper into my chair. Here it was the first day of school, and I was managing to annoy the girl who probably had her picture pasted next to the word “popular” in the dictionary. I was blending in…but the way strawberries do when you toss them into a blender with milk and ice cream. Blending in—in a shredded, pummeled and pulverized kind of way.
I managed to keep a low profile for the next couple of hours. I quickly figured out that my best course of action was not to talk, move or breathe, if possible. But making like a statue can attract pigeons, if you know what I mean, and soon enough, the pigeons came calling.
“Why so quiet?” Darcy asked as we settled into our fourth-period class.
I shrugged. “Not much to say.”
She turned to a friend and giggled. “Oooh, Jade, she’s giving us the silent treatment.”
Jade, with shiny black hair and sparkly eyes, giggled back. She was prettier than Darcy, but Darcy was clearly the leader.
“Oh, please talk to us, Elsie,” Darcy said.
“It’s Elsa,” I corrected.
“Can’t I give you a little nickname? I like Elsie. Isn’t that the name of the cow on the milk carton?”
I looked up at her from my notebook. “My name is Elsa.”
“Elsa, Elsie…what’s the diff? Anyhow, Elsahhhh, Jade and I were wondering if you wanted to sit with us at lunch next period.”
You know that bright red WARNING sign that flashes on spaceship modules in movies right before the explosion? That’s the sign that was flashing in my head. How was I supposed to respond to Darcy’s lunch invitation? If I said yes, I was setting myself up for more Elsie the Cow–type remarks, or worse. On the other hand, if I said no, she would label me a snob, at which point the claws would really come out, and I’d be sitting all by myself at lunch, perfectly defenseless as she and her friends whispered and giggled, tossing too-cool glances my way. This was a no-win situation, and omigod, it was only my first day of school.
“Sure. I’ll sit with you at lunch.” There. I said it. “Thanks for asking.”
I was on my way to the lionesses’ den. So much for blending in.
I smiled at the cafeteria lady filling my plate with mystery meat, then followed Darcy to a table where her clique sat waiting for their Leader. They parted, clearing the throne for Queen Darcy. She sat in the empty chair, then shot a glance at me.
“Oh,” she said. “She’s sitting with us, too.” A clique member jumped up and fetched me a seat, placing it just outside their circle.
I tried to smile. “Hi, everybody,” I said in my squeaky-petrified voice.
The girls looked at Darcy. She smiled demurely, which was the permission they needed to turn to me and say hi.
Darcy sounded bored as she made brisk introductions. “Everybody, this is Elsie…oh, I mean Elsaaaahhh,” she cooed. “Elsa, you met Jade last period,” she said, pointing to the brunette, “and this is Carter and Jen.”
“Hi,” I said, smiling shyly.
“So, Elsa,” Darcy said, “tell us about yourself.”
I shrugged. “Not much to tell. I like sports. I like dolphins. Dolphins are kinda my thing.”
Darcy curled a lip. “Your thing? O-kay….”
“Dolphins?” Carter piped up. “You mean like Shampoo?”
My eyebrows knitted together. Shampoo… “Oh, you must mean Shamu,” I said. “He’s a whale.”
Darcy twirled a finger in the air. “Whatever,” she said, then muttered under her breath, “Very mature.”
The girls snickered, and I slid lower in my seat.
“Hey, Elsa,” Darcy continued, casting a quick sideways glance at Jade. “Wanna come to a sleepover this Friday night? Jade, Jen and Carter are coming. It’ll be sweet.”
A sleepover? Just like the old days with Lani! My mood lightened for a mome
nt. “A sleepover?” I asked hesitantly. “Really?”
“Of course, silly!” Darcy cooed. “It’ll be totally awesome.”
“Well…” Stop being so uptight, Elsa, I told myself impatiently. Just say yes! “Sure. I’d love to.”
My words hung in the air for a second before the girls exploded into giggles, making sputtering noises through their lips.
“I’m, like, totally kidding!” Darcy finally said, dropping her jaw to indicate how amazed she was by my stupidity. “No offense, Elsa. I just thought for sure you’d know that sleep-overs are, like, so sixth grade.”
I felt like a fan was blowing hot air directly onto my face. I gazed down at my lunch tray, clueless about how to respond.
“But hey, Elsa,” Jade chirped, “if you really think it would be super-awesome to have a sleepover of your own, my little sister has a pair of footie pajamas that you can borrow.”
The girls giggled some more and slapped high fives.
I stabbed a bite of mystery meat with my fork and gulped it down, just to have something to do. No way was I hungry.
“So,” Darcy said after they’d settled down, “I heard you hooked up with Martin. He’s, like, the star of the school baseball team, you know. Mr. Hand-Eye Coordination, that’s what everybody calls him.”
The other girls stuffed giggles into the backs of their throats.
I was confused. “What?”
Darcy nodded toward a table where Martin sat alone, his head buried in a book. “Martin,” she repeated. “I heard he’s your boyfriend.”
WARNING. WARNING. WARNING. “We just met this morning. I don’t even know him,” I said.
“Oh, so you don’t like him.” Darcy eyed me evenly.
“I said I don’t know him. I’m sure he’s an okay guy.”
“Well, good news, then, Elsie!” Darcy said. “He’s available!” The girls erupted into peals of laughter.
“Let’s call him over,” Darcy said.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s okay. I’ll save you the trouble.” I got up, picked up my tray and walked over to his table.
Do-Over Page 2
